


The Show Must Go On

by MissRedpen



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Other, community theater, marital frustrations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 13:21:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8403205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissRedpen/pseuds/MissRedpen
Summary: Belle wants to produce a talent show.  Rumplestiltskin tries to stop her.  Jealousy!  Angst!  Hi-jinks ensue.  Will their problems be solved before the curtain goes up? Please read, review and feel free to leave comments.  Seriously, I'm a grown woman, I can take it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My apologies for the spacing goofs. I tried fixing it, but it refused to budge. Sure the problem is on my end.

The Show Must Go On

 

 

The idea for a talent show stemmed from Belles' need to engage in exciting activity. It was low on the 

thrill scale compared to fighting flying monkeys and ice witches, but for Belle it would have to be 

enough until people could go past the town line. She didn't tell Rumpelstiltskin this, but sometimes

she would go to the edge of town and spit on the border. Given the amount of take-out cups and 

sandwich wrappers littering the area, Belle suspected she wasn't the only one. She

saw people shuffle into the library, their expressions tired and tedious. Hi-ho became ho-hum. So, one

day while shelving books Belle found a story about a performers' life in vaudeville, another the evolution of musical theater. Soon an idea started

forming in Belles' brain: if we can't leave to have an adventure, we'll have one here. At least it's

excitement we can control. 

But first, she needed a venue. The “Magnificent” theater was on the other end of Main Street. It was

owned and run by Sal Mangiafuoco; she arranged to take a long lunch one day to pitch her idea. She

met him on the sidewalk outside of his theater. He was three of Marco put together. His long, coal 

black hair was held back in a braid, his beard puddled on his belly. His bushy eyebrows reminded Belle 

of an

old cat. The Italian mans' mouth was pulled into a frown until Belle explained what she wanted to do

and why, then he shrugged a “why bother?” and opened the front doors.

The lobby carpet, once a rich red velvet had faded from time and traffic. Brass accents on the restroom 

doors and at the concession stand were tarnished to a mud brown. Stage boards were warped. 

Rows of seats were missing. Cobwebs hung from every available corner. Lives were threatened 

by an enormous brass and crystal chandelier that hung above the mezzanine by a worn rope. The 

managers' office reeked of cigar smoked and salami. Dressing rooms had broken mirrors; open tubes

of greasepaint littered tables. The Green Room was blue.

She could imagine what Rumple would say.

“One cannot wax lyrical about a pile of manure except to 

say that one day it will make wonderful fertilizer.” But Belle being a glass-half-full kind of person saw

potential, hope and opportunity. 

“Sal,” she said, taking his hand in her own, “I would be honored to have the show at The Magnificent.”

 

Belle returned to work with a fuller heart than she'd since her wedding. Finally, to be

useful! Not that running a library and reading to kids on Saturdays wasn't useful, it's just that while

everyone, even Henry, was off having adventures she was expected to hold the fort. Being the

responsible one was like using magic, the price was missing out. Well, not anymore. 

Now that a theater had been secured, advertisements had to be made up. Belle bought a ream of bright 

yellow paper at the local stationary store and used the library copy machine to print up enough fliers for

every shop window in town. She knew at which one to start.

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

Gold was sitting behind the glass-topped counter polishing silver spoons. When the bell above the

door jingled, he looked up and smiled. 

“Brightest part of my day.” he said as his wife placed a stack of fliers next to the polish and kissed

him. When they came up for air he motioned to the yellow paper.

“What's this?” he asked, picking up a sheet and read aloud. “Is this a fund raiser for the library?”

“No. A morale booster for the town.” 

“A talent show? Who's producing this and why would they think the subjects of Storybrooke should display their,” he cleared his throat at the

thought, “skills?” 

Belle took the flier from her husband and lovingly smoothed out the wrinkles while the Dark One

chuckled.

“I can just picture it: the three Pigg sisters playing 'Over the Rainbow' on saws.”

Belle stepped away from the counter and stood tall as she could with pride and the help of stillettos. 

Rumpelstiltskins' laughter

died when he saw his wife looking like a pissed-off pixie.

“I am. And from now until the show closes, I'll be at the theater every night.” she said, click-clacking her way to

the shop door, her arms laden with fliers. “And thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Rumpelstiltskin stood in the quiet of the shop, wondering what was the best way to stop this. 

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

Belle walked—not taking the Cadillac, thakyouverymuch—to every business in town. From nearby

locations like Granny's Restaurant and the Sheriffs Station to the veterinarians' office near the forest

and mines on the edge of town (where Leroy scowled, but it didn't dampen Belles' spirits as Leroy

scowled at most ideas.) Each 'yes' she received from owners and managers lightened her spirits,

giving her hope and easing the aches in her feet. As she approached the salmon colored house she saw

Rumpelstiltskins' car in the drive. She unlocked the front door and made her way to the master

bathroom upstairs. Belle could hear Rumpelstiltskin removing ingredients for dinner from the fridge

and the clattering of pots and pans. She wasn't sure if she was going to talk to him. Anger lurked

around her heart, along with its fraternal twin brother, resentment. Right now she wanted a long, hot soak in the

tub. And a little distance.

Meanwhile in the kitchen, Rumpelstiltskin was preparing dinner: tortellini primavera, baby spinach

and strawberry salad with walnuts, topped with a balsamic vinaigrette, a whole grain baguette with

fresh butter from Old McDonalds' farm. If the starches from the main meal didn't put her in a better

mood, guaranteed the chocolate cake with bittersweet chocolate ganache and chocolate frosting would. 

He said the talent show was a silly idea, a farce in the making. Belle might be upset with him now, but he was sure that after

dinner, dessert and working off calories later she would be sensible, agree with him and they would

laugh about it. Rumpelstiltskin heard Belle coming down the stairs and called out for her. He was ready to

describe a culinary delight when the sentence died on his lips. 

She was dressed for bed, but not in a fun way. She stretched out her flannel-clad legs and kicked off her house shoes. Rumpelstiltskin put dinner on a Raynaud Schereazade plate and joined his wife

in the living room.

“Hungry?,” he asked, handing Belle her dinner. 

Belle sniffed the swirling aromas of cheese, nuts and fruit. When she didn't take the gold and blue

plate from him right away, he placed it on the coffee table and sat on the couch. The distance between

the spouses was more than two cushions. 

“Just to let you know, I made this meal with my own two hands. No magic involved.” 

Rumpelstiltskin and Belle had come to an impasse regarding the use of magic in the house. She was

against it, calling magic 'the easy way out.' He retorted that technology was once considered magical

and if she has such a problem, why are they using a dishwasher? They still haven't come to an

agreement. 

“I'm not going to apologize for stating the obvious. It's a ridiculous idea. No one would audition because nobody has talent to show off. So don't waste your time, dearie.”

“Don't you 'dearie' me, Rumpelstiltskin. You use that term of endearment when you have no respect for a person.”

She knew him too well. 

He wanted to reach to Belle. To hold her near. To feel that the connection between them wasn't as frayed as he assumes it is when old demons whisper in his ear. The Dark One didn't move. 

“What makes you believe you're capable for the task? Your experience with this world is at best...limited.” 

That struck a nerve. The tiny librarian picked up her slippers. 

“I may not have been born and raised on the boards,” 

He mouthed the slang term.

“And I know I'll make mistakes. But at least I'm willing to try and learn from them. Unlike some.”

With that, the tiny librarian clad her feet in tiny bunny slippers and stomped up the stairs, taking a left at the landing to the guest bedroom where no calories would be burned that night.

 

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]][][][

On a sunny Saturday morning Belle entered the theater energized by tea and anticipation. 

“Does it have to be so early?” Henry yawned and followed Belle to a folding table with two chairs

waited for them halfway down the center aisle. 

“It's only nine o'clock. Would you rather go home and clean your room?”

Henry shook his head and swallowed a yawn.

“Here,” Belle handed him an oblong, white box. The boys' eyes grew wide at the assortment of doughnuts.

“Thanks Belle, I'm starving!”

“I thought that might perk you up a bit. Now, your job for today is to write the name of the act on this

sheet. Make sure you get their contact information.” She handed him a clipboard with pencil. 

“Like phone number or email?”

“Yes. Then call them up one by one. I'll see what they can do and make my decision tomorrow.”

“Sounds simple.” he said, chocolate frosting sticking to his lips. “Anything else?” 

“We clean up afterward.”

Henry groaned, “I knew I wouldn't get away from housework.”

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][

During a three hour period, people entered the theater to try out. Some were single, others in groups of

four and more. Henry, fueled by sugar, was kept on the run taking phone numbers and ushering people to

the stage. Belle sat at the table scribbling notes; more than once she had to inform people that fire acts were not allowed in any form. 

Mr. Mushu shrugged, put his apron back on and returned to the Red Dragon. Maleficent replied

“Whatever” and stayed to watch the other acts. Jack Nimble stormed out in a huff, but not before

stealing a sprinkle-covered doughnut. After that, Henry hid the box under the table. 

When the acts were good, time flew and Belle wondered why her neighbors would hide their lights under a bush. When they weren't, she thought she was being punished for a deed in a past life. She scribbled notes

on forms about each performance; she'd have to decide which ones could participate depending on how 

it appealed to the audience and time allowed. It wouldn't be easy to say no, but in some cases she'd

have to. That's show biz. 

And my marriage, she thought, trying to concentrate on the seven dwarfs, who were bringing a tuba,

banjo and drum set up onto the stage while 

Victor Whale and three other men exited. She and Rumpelstiltskin hadn't had sex in a week. 

And why should she? He'd be looking down his nose both literally and figuratively!

Belle shook her head and she came back to the present. 

“All set?” she called out to Doc, who was watching Dopey chase a spotted puppy across the stage.

“As soon as we get our sticks back.” he replied. 

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

Belle sat perched on the guest bed, notes in neat piles around her. She had decided which performers to

cut (sorry Cruella, your dogs kept running off with the dwarfs' instruments,) call the keepers (who

knew Archie was so graceful?) Now she had to arrange them according to how long it took to perform,

plus including breaks so a new act could set up. Belle was concentrating so hard on time management

that she didn't hear Rumpelstiltskin knock on the door. He knocked a little louder the second time. 

Belle looked up from the paperwork and was tempted to throw a slipper at the door. Instead, she

groaned.

“Come in.” 

Rumpelstiltskin opened the door and entered like he owned the place. Which he did. There was an

overstuffed leather chair by the window, facing the full-sized bed. He descended into the seat and

arranged himself as if he were sitting on a throne. He looked down his crooked nose at the paperwork

surrounding Belle like a pulp wall, his expression the same as one would have finding cockroaches in 

the kitchen. 

“Will you come down for dinner?” he asked. “I prepared one of your favorites: braised chicken thighs

with lemon and dill.” He enunciated the parts of the bird with a seductive tone. A tease, a taunt, a

hope. 

“I went to Tianas' after work.” Belle answered, not looking up from the paper she was writing on. “By

the way, the take-out box is my lunch tomorrow.”

“You'll have to get something else, hamburgers at Granny's perhaps.”

Belle looked up from the time table, her eyes narrowed.

“Why? There's perfectly good Cajun craw fish and shrimp etouffe in the fridge?”

Rumpelstiltskin puckered his lips in a moue of disgust. 

“You'd better not have done what I think you did.” Belle hoisted herself off the bed and stomped

downstairs. 

“That was a poorly constructed sentence.” Rumpelstiltskin replied as he ascended from the seat and

stood by the paperwork on the bed. From the kitchen his wife called up.

“Damnit, Rumpelstiltskin!”

“I did you a favor, dearie. Food poisoning is nasty and can land you in the emergency room. Then

you'd be prodded by the likes of Whale and forced to endure hospital food. Which in my opinion is

worse than the illness.” 

He didn't want it to come to this, but desperate times and all. The Dark One passed a palm over the

papers, transposing a few digits. Then he picked up Belles' phone off the nightstand and muttered a spell over it.

That should do, he thought as Belle returned. Rumpelstiltskin encircled Belle in his arms as she

entered the room; it was like hugging a mannequin. He dipped his mouth to her throat,

peppering it with soft kisses. 

“I missed you this week. You're always working at the library or on,” he glared at the papers on the

bed, “something else. You're so tense.” Which was true, Belles' shoulders were above her ears. She

was grinding her teeth. “Come to bed and I'll relax you.” 

Belle looked up and smiled a like a wax dummy.

“You're right, I should go to bed.” she said, breaking free of his grasp. Belle gathered up the paperwork and laid it

carefully on the dresser before climbing into bed. “Shut off the light on your way out.”

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][[]][[][][]

The Dark One was crabbier than Leroy standing outside the Rabbit Hole on voting day and woe to any Storybrooke citizen who strayed

into his path. So far this morning he'd gunned the Caddys' engine at a group of nuns crossing the

street; when Pongo lifted his leg to water a parking meter in front of the shop, Rumpelstiltskin

threatened to have him neutered with a chainsaw. On the phone later he threatened to evict Mrs.

Shoemaker and her innumerable number of offspring. (There is such a thing as birth control, woman!)

Before lunchtime he had raised the rent on six properties, refused to give favors to three desperate

souls and took candy from Ashleys' baby. All in all, a productive day.

Rumpelstiltskin was at the counter sorting a bag of antique coins—happy to find a Romanian Hex coin

among them--when his stomach let out a long, low growl. Yes, he thought, an early lunch is in order. 

And what better way to enjoy a burger at Grannys' than with the company of his beautiful wife? Or

better yet, why not take it to her and have an impromptu meal in her office? So with a bag of burgers

and a spring in his step, he entered the Storybrooke Library. A red-headed woman stood behind the

counter waiting on patrons, her back to Rumpelstiltskin as he entered; at first he thought it was Ariel,

but then recognized her as Ashleys' step-sister by the womans whiskey tenor voice. He ignored the

“no food or drink” sign at the circulation desk and strode to Belles' office. 

“Darling, I bring an ant-less picnic.” he said upon entering, but was greeted by Belle waving her hand at him.

“Shhhh!” Belle gestured to her cellphone that was wedged between her ear and shoulder. “Hi and

congratulations, please join us for rehearsal on May twenty-seventh at seven pm. That's about three

weeks from now, so plenty of time to rehearse on your own. Any questions, please call 588-2665 or

here at the library.”

Rumpelstiltskin ran a hand over his face to hide the smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. 

Yes, he thought to himself, that's one message that will be erased.

She hung up and put the phone on the desk next to a pile of books and one of those blasted yellow

fliers. Belle began rubbing her shoulder when Rumpelstiltskin moved behind her chair.

“Allow me.” he set his long, slender fingers to work upon Belles' sore muscles. After a few minutes of

attention, she let out a happy groan. “Feel better my love?”

“Mmhmm.” she reached into the paper bag and pulled out a burger, happily devouring half in one bite. 

She began talking with her mouth full and pieces of bun fell onto the desk. 

“You may want to repeat that.”

“I said I've been on the phone most of this morning. That's why my neck hurts.”

“With whom?”

“The acts for the talent show. Letting them know the whens and wheres. Everybody must be as busy

as I am, all I've spoken to are answering machines and voice mails.” she took another big bite of

burger with extra pickles, “This is so good, I left without eating breakfast and haven't had a break since

I got here.”

“Yes, I noticed you were gone by the time I got up. I also noticed you not sleeping in our bed last

night. Please tell me that won't be repeated unless one of us is in a full-body cast?”

Belle put her food down on the desk. 

“About that. I was pretty peeved last night.”

“It was only food, and not the best in town.”

She shook her head. “It's not that, Rumple. It was for me. It was mine. And you threw it out like it was nothing. You didn't even ask me.”

“I had the best of intentions.”

“Then you acted like sex was going to get you out of trouble.”

“I enjoy holding you.”  
Belle turned around and looked the Dark One in the eyes. His expression was sharp and guarded, like he was gathering defenses.  
“And so do I. It's one of my favorite activities.” she demonstrated by wrapping her arms around his waist, gathering him in a gentle embrace. “Our relationship has been affected by so many outside influences; the dagger, your father,”  
“The Charmings and their constant need for assistance. Honestly, their family motto should be 'Let's ask Rumpelstiltskin for help!'”  
Belle snickered behind her hand.  
“I hate to say it, but I agree. If they want to get out of a tight spot, maybe they should try not getting into one in the first place.”  
Rumpelstiltskin leaned forward, kissing Belle gently.  
“Will you sleep with me tonight?” his voice a husky whisper. “Let me hold you?”  
“Stop pitching things that belong to me.”  
He placed a soft kiss to the corner of Belles' mouth.  
“Okay.”

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]  
The Dark One smiled like a jack-o-lantern on his way back to the shop. Belle was returning to his bed, his misunderstanding spell was working its magic and soon life would work in his favor. 

She'll understand, he thought as he placed the hex coin in the wall safe. Once Belle realizes that I prevented her from developing a migraine over this show...he blew a raspberry at the thought of the local yokels making asses of themselves in public. Yes, she'll be forgiving. But that doesn't mean I won't welcome a tongue lashing, he thought, grinning at the double entendre.  
[][][][][][][][][][][][][][]  
Has disappointment ever hit you under the sternum, making it difficult to draw breath? That's how the performers felt after listening to Belles' messages. They looked at their phones in disbelief until life forced them to soldier on. 

At the hospital, Doctor Whale gave up chasing skirts. While walking his dog, Archie didn't care about his frame when he moved. At his house overlooking Storybrooke, Jefferson sat in the corner of his workroom holding pairs of scissors, looking like he'd let them down. And in a waterfront apartment, Ursula multi tasked, feeding exotic fish and dumping glasses of water.

They felt as if their lives had been rewritten by the Grimm brothers. Or Issac on a power trip.

Meanwhile at the library, Anastasia handed Belle the phone. Again.  
“Belle Gold, how may I help you?”  
She listened, gobsmacked as callers asked why she was leaving messages at Doctor Fosters' office, the Blackbird bakery and Rub-a-Dub-Dub bathroom supply house. Belle apologized profusely, hung up and pressed number two on speed dial: Henry.  
“Hey, what's up?”  
“Henry, how do I put this? Are you sure you were careful at auditions? Writing everything down correctly?”  
“Yeah, I think so. Why?”  
“When I called people, I got wrong numbers.”  
“Well, I was pretty tired that morning.” he sheepishly admitted. “I was up playing video games and watching movies at Grandpa Davids'.”  
“How late were you up?”  
“I think four.”  
“In the morning?! Does your grandfather know you were up that late?”  
“Yeah. I heard Snow fuss at him to come to bed.”  
“When was that?”  
“Around six, I think.”  
He was complaining about not wanting to do housework, Belle thought, if he were my kid I'd make him clean the garage, the gutters and I'd adopt a dog just so he'd have to give it a bath!  
“I'm sorry Belle.”  
I hear that a lot from the men in this family, she groused to herself.  
“I'll take care of it. But the next time you volunteer for something, make sure you get plenty of sleep the night before.”  
“I will.”  
The two hung up and she rubbed her temples in frustration. All productions have bumps and hopefully this could be smoothed over quickly. Belle balanced the office phone receiver on her shoulder while Googling phone numbers.  
[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]  
It took a lot to mess with someones' zen, and Belles' call did the trick. Mulan stormed into the library, followed by Aurora.  
“I'll mind my breathing after I find out what the hell is going on!” she yelled at her girlfriend. Belle emerged from the research department when hearing the outburst. Prepped to shush at first, her expression changed to confusion upon seeing the angry Chinese warrior yelling by the circulation desk.  
“Mulan, what's going on?” she asked quietly and gestured for the ladies to enter her office. The three made their way to the room; Belle sat behind her book covered desk, Aurora took a place on the couch and Mulan paced a line in the carpet.  
“Why and what the...” the Asian woman began in her native tongue.  
“Baby,” Aurora interjected, “be careful of your blood pressure.”  
Mulans' breathing resembled a bull who had seen a red flag. After a minute of impromptu meditation, her nostrils had stopped flaring.  
“Belle,” she began calmly, “If you didn't want me in the show, you could have just said 'thanks a lot, but not thanks.' You didn't have to be vicious about it.”  
“What? What made you think...I remember calling and leaving a message on your voice mail.” Belle retrieved a yellow legal pad labeled “To Do” at the top.  
“And insulting me. Does that ring any gongs?”  
For a woman who loved words, Belle was struck dumb. The two women stared at each other until Aurora spoke up.  
“Last week we, I mean Mulan, got a phone call from you.” she fished a phone from her jacket pocket, pressed some buttons and Belle heard her voice coming through the speaker.  
“Nobody wants to see you turn yourself into a human shishkabob. What next, you're gonna be listed on your uncles' menu? What a waste of time.”  
Mulan sank onto the couch and put her head in Auroras' lap. Tears welled in the eyes of both ladies while Aurora played the message three times. Each replay felt like a blow to Belles' chest.  
“I can only show you that wasn't me.” Belle said pulling a second pad from her desk drawer. She knelt before the two ladies and showed them a schedule of acts for the show. Mulans act was fourth on the list.  
“If you received the wrong message, then so did everyone else. I'll have to explain and make this right.”  
Aurora handed Mulan a wad of tissues from a box beside the couch.  
“You may want to do that in person.” she said.  
“That's a lot of ground to cover on foot.” Belle remarked.  
Mulan sat up, her breathing back to normal.  
“Need a ride?” she offered.  
[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]  
First stop was the hospital, where Doctor Whales' chin was still dragging the floor. The two ladies caught him at a coffee vending machine. “Let me see your phone.” Belle said. “Don't you have one of your own? Besides, I don't want to talk to you. In person or any other way.”  
Mulan patted the doctor down; he was confused and aroused at the same time.  
“I wouldn't normally complain, but in this case I'll make an exception.”  
“Here you go.” Mulan said, pushing the phone into its owners' chest. “Show us your voice mails.”  
“Please.” Belle asked sweetly.  
The doctor fidgeted with buttons, accessing the messages. Several were from women, all giving the same negative answer.  
“We can skip over those.” he said sheepishly.  
Then Belles' voice came out of the speaker.  
“Thanks for wasting my precious time. You and your friends should take lessons before inflicting your voices on the innocent public.”  
Victor tucked the phone into his breast pocket. “You sent four messages, all pretty much all along the same vein.”  
Belle took his hands in her own, “I don't know how to explain it, but that wasn't me.” She showed him proof on paper. “Please, call the others in your group and let them know.”  
“Why can't you do it?”  
“I don't trust my phone.”

[][][][][][  
“Zelena, you're leaving a water mark on my sofa, stop crying and listen to her!” yelled Madam Mayor as she prodded her step-sister into a sitting position. It sounded worse than when her face was buried in the couch cushions.  
“Let me guess,” Belle began, “she's been like this since she got my message.”  
Regina looked like she wanted to stifle Zelenas' cries with the throw pillows.  
“Non stop.”  
“How does Henry put up with it?” Mulan asked, wearing her motorcycle helmet to muffle the sound.  
“I sent him to stay with Emma until little sis calms down or runs dry. Which ever comes first.”  
Belle sat on the coffee table in front of the weeping woman. “Zelena, you got the wrong message. I want you in the show.”  
The green eyed woman blubbered and wailed, her usual English Rose features twisted and contorted, looking like a gargoyle with runny mascara. “Nuhnuhnuh youuuu donnnn'ttt! You said I sounded like a banshee in heat!”  
With that, Zelena dove face first into the white decorative pillows.  
“If I'm lucky,” Regina remarked, “maybe she'll smother herself.”  
“Zelena, look at this. See?” She pulled the keep list from her purse; for the first time in days the great white house was silent.  
“You do want me.” she squeaked.  
“When you sing, I want you to belt it out to the peanut gallery. Make your message heard!”  
“Yes!” Zelena cried out, “I will! Sis!” she turned to Regina, who had hoped to be left alone in the quiet. Zelena jumped from the couch, taking the stairs two steps at a time until she reached Reginas' room. “Can I borrow your blue dress? And the diamond bracelet?” The mayor followed suit, throwing promises to Belle of additional funding for the library, even if she had to take it out of her own salary.  
[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][  
“Thanks for the ride, and being understanding.” Belle said, dismounting from Mulans' motorcycle. “And I'm sorry about the gouges in your jacket.”  
Mulan chuckled, “That's okay. I know my driving style isn't for everyone.”  
“I've never taken corners on one wheel before. It was an adventure. And remember,” Belle began as she climbed the steps to the salmon house.  
“If I need anything, tell it to you in person.” Mulan finished the sentence.  
“See you at the show!”  
“I'll be there!” Mulan called out as she drove away.  
Do you ever not want to go home? Like you regret what waits for you beyond the front door? That's how Belle felt as she entered the house and found Rumpelstiltskin singing to himself as he prepared dinner.  
“Many a king on a first class throne," he quoted Gilbert and Sullivan, "if he wants to call his crown his own, must manage somehow to get through more dirty work than ever I do." He turned around and smiled upon seeing Belle. "Darling, you're late. I was going to make...”  
“For once, Rumpelstiltskin, you're going to be quiet, take everything I say to heart and not look for loopholes.”  
His expression was between 'I can't believe my little wife is speaking to me like that' and 'oh fuck, she found out.'  
“For weeks I've had a dream. Not a huge dream as they go, but mine just the same. And I've spent most of today straightening out problems that you have caused.” He opened his mouth, but Belle silenced him with a raised hand. “Don't try to deny it, they're engraved with your name.”  
Silence separated the lovers like iron bars.  
“It was never my intention to hurt you.” his voice almost a whisper.  
“Are you admitting your guilt?” Her mouth squeezed into an angry, thin line. Rumpelstiltskins' eyes almost shone with pride. She wanted to strangle him. “What possible reason would you have to ruin my...”  
“Show, show, show!” Rumpelstiltskins' voice rose with the repetition of the word. “For weeks you've enthusiastically flung yourself into that cursed, blasted, blight of an activity. While you're off chasing the spotlights, I'm...never mind. I'm staying at the shop until this is over.” He came out from behind the kitchen island, preparing to storm out the door when Belle caught him by the wrist.  
“Oh, no you don't Rumpelstiltskin. As much as this hurts, you're going to stay and give me an answer. You're going to fight for us.”  
“Us? This is about your love of all things theatrical.”  
“No, it's not.” the tears welling up in her eyes. “It goes deeper than that. Rumpelstiltskin, we have an Us problem.”  
There it was, center stage and under the beam of a thousand watt light. Slowly, he turned over the reasons in his mind, trying to make something sensible from them. They were garbled and unclear, like a toddlers' speech.  
“It made sense at the time.” he said, sitting at the island.  
“Explain it to me,” she said softly, taking a seat on the stool opposite of him.  
“Behind.” he shrugged. “I felt left behind. I don't know how else to say it. Every time you'd leave I felt scared and small and forsaken. Like you were delighted to see the back of me. I didn't say that's what you thought. Just how I...fuck, Belle I hate being up in this tree.”  
They stood and wrapped their arms around each other, “Part of being married, talking each other down. Besides, you put up with me.”  
Rumpelstiltskin shook his head, looking at Belle as if she were all the virtues rolled into a petite package.  
“Think, love. How many times have you pulled me from the path of oncoming traffic because my nose is buried in a book?”  
“Well...”  
“Or when you have to drag me away from Shoedazzles' website?”  
“By the way, three boxes arrived today with their address on it. Does your argument have a point?”  
“We get on each others' nerves, do things that baffle the other. We'll get scared that we're not good enough. But we have to talk about these demons.”  
“Show me yours and I'll slaughter them to give you peace of mind.”  
“When you were in Neverland I wondered if I was too boring, too sedate for you. That you'd be happier with someone more...action-packed and stimulating.”  
Rumpelstiltskin pressed his lips against Belles'; and if a kiss could vanquish evil spirits, hell would have been emptied.  
“Promise me something,”  
“That I'll tell you if somethings' bothering me?”  
“Exactly. We can't help each other if we don't talk.”  
“Deal.”  
[][][][][][][][][][][][][][]  
Silver moonlight streamed through the window, touching a trail of clothes that led from the bedroom door to the king-sized bed, falling across the figures entwined around each other. Rumpelstiltskin—unlike Belle—hadn't fallen asleep after they made love. He laid awake in awe of his wife and steeped in regret of his childhood fears. Knowing that an apology is better when put into action, the Dark One whispered the Spell of Sincerity, realizing it wouldn't fix everything, but it was a start. Upon saying the last words of the spell, he kissed his wife on the cheek and slept in the following morning.  
[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]  
Belle had spent an hour after work soaking in the claw-foot tub, surrounded by luxurious lavender scented bubbles. She nibbled and noshed on a plate of assorted fruits, aromatic cheeses and crusty bread while dressing. For her Mistress of Ceremonies wardrobe, Belle chose her best sky blue dress with cap sleeves and strappy heels. She swept her hair over one shoulder and held it in place with several decorative bobby pins. Call was at six-thirty and Belle wanted to get there early to do a final check of the theater. Rumpelstiltskin parked in front of the Majestic and opened his wifes' door. He stopped her before she opened the lobby doors.  
“Belle, I want you to know how grateful I am that...thank you for putting up with me.”  
“You're welcome. And I love you too.”  
“Another thing. Your outfit, while perfectly acceptable for a day at the library, doesn't suit the occasion.”  
Belle looked down at her clothes, “What's wrong with it?”  
“It lacks panache and flare. In a word, it should be more theatrical.” And with a wave of his hand, right on Main Street, Rumpelstiltskin transformed Belles' work-day dress into a gown that distracted Keith Nottingham (who had emerged from Clarks' Pharmacy) causing him to walk into a light pole.  
“Why are people staring?” she asked and her husband was too happy to produce a full-length mirror from thin air. “Oh, my God.”  
“Praise to all deities, indeed. And bless your parents, too.” Rumpelstiltskin said, admiring the view. Belle was a vision in a floor-length black tuxedo dress; it was backless, strapless and held up by modesty. He'd changed her coif into an elegant french twist. Diamond earrings adorned her ears and her wedding ring had been polished until it gleamed.  
“You didn't have to,” she began and he stopped her with a kiss.  
“There's things I shouldn't do, like my behavior the past few weeks. This is something I want to do. For you, Belle. For us.”  
Upon that syllable, Rumpelstiltskin flung open the front doors of The Majestic Theater. Once again Belle was taken aback by the condition of the theater. Thick, red carpet laid beneath her feet; brass fixtures had a reflective shine. As Belle made her way from the lobby to the main stage, she was gobsmacked; the death-trap of a decoration above the audience shone like a thousand stars, cherub statues were freed from their cobweb curtains, the Green Room was green. She was inspecting floorboards on the stage when Sal came out to her, crying.  
“Belle! Did you see? My theater! Even the popcorn popper works!”  
“It's beautiful, Sal.”  
“She always has been,” he admitted, “I should have let her shine like this all these years. Instead I became lazy, remembering the shows of the past instead of letting her have more. Never again, Belle. Never again!” The old Italian blew his nose into a blue bandana and rushed to the lobby, Belle assumed, to make popcorn.  
“You?” she gestured to the beauty around her.  
“Please accept this small but sincere act as a gesture of support on my part.”  
“You call this,” she pointed to the seats, the lights, her dress, “small? Did you see what it was like before?”  
“I imagine it was what we were in danger of becoming.” Rumpelstiltskin pulled a clipboard and tablet out of thin air, handing it to Belle. “Now, this is your call sheet and list of acts for the show I believe. Is there anything I can do?”  
Belles' smile lit up the stage. “I was hoping you'd say that.”  
[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][  
“Are the dressing rooms ready?”  
“Bottles of water are cooling, trash cans are empty, makeup mirrors polished.”  
Belle listened and ticked off items from the To Do list. “Is the front of house ready?”  
“Both restrooms are fully stocked with supplies and have attendants at the ready.”  
“Who's doing that?”  
“Two of the three blind mice.”  
Belle looked up from the clipboard, horrified. “How can they help? They can't see!”  
“Actually, they aren't really blind. Just farsighted. New glasses did the trick.”  
“You had something to do with that, I'm sure.”  
“Most likely.”  
A door hinge cried and a group of dwarfs entered, carrying instruments.  
“Mmmm, smells good in here.” noted Doc. Dopey nodded in agreement. “Got any candy at the concession stand?”  
“So far,” Rumpelstiltskin mentioned, “that's the only hitch.”  
He thought Belles' head was going to swing off her neck. “What's the problem?”  
“Sal is only selling popcorn and chocolate candies tonight. He threw out the Goobers and Raisinetes because they were past the Sell-By date.”  
“How old could they be?” Grumpy grumbled.  
“They were new when Reagan was president.”  
Images of indigestion danced in their heads.  
“Rumpel, will you show them to the dressing rooms, please?”  
“Get your gear dearies and follow me.” he said and led the group away.  
[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][[][][][][][][  
Five minutes before curtain. The house was fully packed. Acts had warmed up muscles and voices, changed into costumes, arranged music and props. Wishes of 'Break a leg' were given and last minute nerves were tossed into trash cans.  
At precisely eight o'clock the house lights were lowered and an instrumental version of “That's Entertainment!” played over the speakers. A spotlight was lit on stage right and Belle rode it to center stage where she greeted the crowd.  
“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, thank you for coming to Storybrooke Talent Extravaganza! First up is Ariel!”  
The young woman entered from stage left, wearing shorts, a tank top and shoes all the same shade of sea blue; she was pushing a BMX bicycle. Rumpelstiltskin wondered why she would show off her legs now, since she's had them for months. The former mermaid began moving at a trot, then jumped onto the seat, pulling the front wheel off the ground. She crab-walked the bicycle across the stage, spun the back wheel to the front and back again; she drove backwards, steered with her legs on the handlebars and disregarded all rules of bicycle safety. Instead of taking a bow, she pulled the front wheel off the floor and stood on the pedals, waving triumphantly.  
Belle walked back onstage, “Ariel said she practices her skills at her messenger business. Next up is a man of many talents; milliner, portal jumper. Please welcome, Jefferson!”  
The crazy eyed man walked onstage holding a large wooden box with a lid. He took from it a red pin cushion the size of an orange, tossed it into his other hand and retrieved a sheet of pattern paper and chucked it into the air. Before it became subject to gravity, he pulled out a large satin top-hat and began keeping one of three items in the air at all times. In the time he performed, Jefferson switched out props twice; cushions were replaced for fabric swatches, a small washboard for paper. When Jefferson held up three awls with wooden handles and three silver shears, the audience 'oohed', but it was when he untied his cravat from around his throat and used it as a blindfold that they held their collective breath. One by one he tossed the implements into the air. Higher and higher they went, until they disappeared behind the proscenium, reappearing like Damacles' sword. A lack of concentration could cause a trip to the emergency room, but he was not swayed by the sighs and gasps of the audience. With the dexterity of a master performer, Jefferson caught each item, removed the blindfold and took a bow to thunderous applause.  
“Thank goodness there's a doctor in the house.” Belle quipped as Jefferson left the stage. “Now for: Ursula!”  
The sea witch walked onstage, pushing a table on casters. Atop the table were dozens of glasses and goblets filled with water. At first Rumpelstiltskin wondered if her talent was gargling. Her tentacles emerged from under her skirt and dipped daintily into a tumbler. She moistened her suckers until they shined, then began to play a song, the title of which escaped him until Rumpelstiltskin remembered the Cricket humming it.  
“When You Wish Upon A Star.” he whispered to himself.  
“Don't pour it out, the next act will drink it.” Belle called after Ursula as she pushed the table offstage. The beautiful librarian smiled and introduced the next act. He expected Mulans' costume to be hanfu, but she had opted for all black ala Audrey Hepburn in 'Funny Face.' Rumpelstiltskin smirked at the similarity, but not for long; as Mulan began her act The Dark One reflexively reached up to protect his throat. She started out with a dirk, then a dagger followed by a stiletto; finally the warrior woman pulled a blade as long as his arm from a sheath and inch by painful looking inch it was eased into her throat up to the hilt. When she threaded her throat with four blades at once, Rumpelstiltskin was speechless.  
“Now I'm really glad Doctor Whale is here.” Belle said and Rumpelstiltskin—along with the rest of the audience—agreed.  
Zelena took center stage next in a jade green dress, she took a deep breath and declared her feelings with “I Hate Men.” Rumpelstiltskin thought that Cole Porter was inspired by Zelenas' relationships and surprised by the power of her voice. He had no doubt that the venom was aimed at him.  
After Zelena stole an extra bow and reluctantly left the stage, four men—Smee, Anton, Sidney and Whale—filed on. The quartet arranged themselves around a solitary microphone; silence was broken by the occasional cough from the audience, you could hear impatient shifting in seats as the men looked at each other, ready to begin. Finally, four voices lifted a question into the air.  
“Can anybody find me...somebody to love?”  
Rumpelstiltskin could see from the corners of his eyes, audience members of middle age moving to the music as Sydney took lead vocal.  
“Put me in a fur coat and call me a bilge rat.” he heard from a certain pirate in the next aisle. Someone shushed Mr. Maybeline as the group continued their quest for a deity to believe in. Rumpelstiltskin was glad Hook had been silenced; it was disrespectful to interrupt their hard work, their passion. Yes, he noted as the men threw themselves into the lyrics, swaying to a rhythm, their souls laid bare in song.  
When the final note finished, Rumpelstiltskin was one among many to give a standing ovation. The men lined up along the footlights and took several bows before Belle had to usher them offstage. From his place in the audience, Rumpelstiltskin could see Zelena sulking behind a curtain. Finally people took their seats and a quiet settled upon them. Belle strode to center stage.  
“Isn't it great that the citizens of Storybrooke have so much to offer? By the way, they do weddings and bar mitzvahs. Please put your hands together for our next act: Archie Hopper and Ruby Lucas!”  
An accordion broke the silence as the Cricket and Wolf Girl approached one another from opposite sides of the stage; her dress was a “I don't have to spell it out for you” type of cut, the hem falling to just above the knee with a slit exposing her well-toned leg. Archie wore slacks the same shade of black as Rubys' dress; two buttons loosened on his white shirt, exposing the hollow of his throat. Their movements a mix of invitation and anger, frustration and passion; Rumpelstiltskin wondered as the quiet counselor alternately led, stalked and tossed his leggy partner around the stage if this dance should have come with a rating. When the song faded out the couple stood in center stage in a fiery embrace. The audience burst into applause as the partners bowed; he noticed Archie didn't so much walk off the stage as he did strut.  
Belle returned to center stage.  
“There's one more act to welcome to the stage. I won't say all their names or I'll be up here all night. Please welcome: The Seven Dwarfs!”  
Two pushed an upright piano, atop it sat a tuba, clarinet and slide trombone. Dopey carried vases and cowbells in a variety of sizes. Doc took his place behind the microphone stand.  
“You ready brothers?” asked Grumpy, who stood by Doc. He signaled to Happy, who tapped Sleepy to begin playing the piano. The jovial dwarf began playing a slow tune, with Sneezy accompanying on guitar.  
“You always hurt the one you love...” it began. Rumpelstiltskins' memories of the past few weeks played like a movie, flickering on his mind. “The one you shouldn't hurt at all.”  
A fancy dress, a remodeled theater. What kind of apologies in action were they compared to the behavior he had to change?  
“You always take the sweetest rose and crush it until the petals fall.”  
That's what I did, he thought. Tried to stamp out Belles' dream. Make her kiss my boot and be grateful for the privilege.  
“You always break the kindest heart...”  
Not anymore.  
“Now, honey child,” Grumpy interjected with a voice like caramel, “You know you always seems to break, the kinda sort of a heart with some hasty word you just can't seem to recall honey child, honey lamb, honey baby, honey pie.”  
That's a lot of honeys, Rumpelstiltskin noted as he swore to talk to Belle about how to deal with demons. A feeling of calm settled upon his heart as the song droned on. Then the gunshot shook him out of his seat. He realized it was part of the song as the performers kept going...  
“You always hurt...**gunshot, scream**...the one you love...**Bashful makes woo-woo sounds into microphone...the one you shouldn't hurt at all...**more gunshots, more screaming.”  
It wasn't until Dopey purposely broke vases onstage and made sniffing sounds into the mic that Rumpelstiltskin realized this was a parody.  
Guess that's what it takes to wake you up from a self-centered fit, getting the shit scared out of you.  
[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][  
“Sal was right.” Rumpelstiltskin said as he and Belle sat in the quiet, empty theater.  
She had taken off her heels and he was rubbing her feet.  
“About what?”  
“Needing a chance to shine. Do you think I'll ever stop apologizing?”  
“Someday. When you've forgiven yourself.”  
“Do you forgive me?”  
“I already have.”  
He pulled Belle into his lap and pressed his lips to hers.  
“Are you thinking of your next show yet?”  
Belle nodded.  
“Evil Dead: The Musical. Simple set, small cast, catchy tunes. Care to audition?”  
“Will you have a casting couch?”


End file.
